The Games We Play

Jonathan’s series against the Philadelphia Flyers started a little bit before Lacey’s final series against NYU. The Blackhawks had hosted the first two games at the United Center and had won them both, but then Philly bounced right back to win their two home games. The Hawks came back to Chicago and beat the Flyers again, and Game Six, one one that could be for all the marbles, was to be held in Philadelphia in front of tens of thousands of people.

Loyola’s run against New York University was not going nearly as well as Chicago’s. Lacey’s team had flown up to New York to play at their campus and she had gone along with them.

NYU won the first game by literally plowing over everyone in a 3-0 finish. The second game was also theirs, but not quite as easily. The score ended up being 2-1 in their favour. Game Three had been won by Loyola by a shutout score of 2-0, filling the team with confidence again. It was quickly deflated by their Game Four loss of 3-2. Game Five was their last chance of survival. If they won, they could push a sixth game. If they lost, it was over.

Every single night, whether it was after a win or a loss, Lacey would sit in the hotel room she shared with Becky and would stare at her cast, wishing endlessly that it would somehow disappear so she could help her team again. Becky eventually put a sleep cap over Lacey’s eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at it.

“Thinking of what could have been won’t help anyone,” she’d said the night before what could have been their final game. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, no matter what the outcome, is going to be a big day.”

Lacey and Jonathan texted a few times while they were both on the road. Jonathan had Lacey’s soccer schedule inputted into his Blackberry and would send her good luck messages. She did the same for him. Every time his name would pop up on the screen of her phone, her heart would do a little flip.

That morning when she woke up, it was no exception. She checked her phone and there was Jonathan’s message.

Good luck today. I’ll be thinking of you.

Lacey smiled and sent her reply.

Good luck to you too, Jon. Don’t come back to Chicago unless you’ve got the Cup with you.

Becky had just put her uniform on and was doing stretches against the wall. “You ready to head out and meet the team for a quick practice?” she asked. Lacey nodded, tucking her phone into her pocket.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

She grabbed her crutches and hobbled after Becky to the hotel elevator where they met up with a few other girls on the team who had rooms on their floor. They chatted animatedly about the game and their nerves, and Lacey promised to give them a pep talk before the game started. She wasn’t sure if it would help or not, but the others seemed to be calmed by the idea.

They got to the field and saw some of the NYU girls practicing on half of the field. Lacey waved to them and called, “Hey, you guys don’t mind if we use part of the field for our drills, do you?”

One of the girls who Lacey recognized to be a midfielder scoffed, her brown hair tied up in a messy bun that bobbled along the top of her head. “What’s the point in you guys even bothering? We’re going to win this game and the playoffs, and you are going to go home crying.”

Lacey was shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” she snapped. “Who are you, anyway? Haven’t seen you play before.” The girl stared down at Lacey’s cast and grimaced. “Cripple.”

Farah was about to get up in the girl’s face. “Now wait just one mother fucking second--”

“Farah!” Lacey hissed, glaring at her, using her eyes to tell her to calm down. Farah shot the girl a look. If looks could kill, she would have been a death wish. Lacey cleared her throat. “I’m Lacey Larsen, the Loyola team captain. I broke my ankle in the last series we played against Southwestern.”

“You sure you didn’t just fall over on your own and end up actually hurting yourself?” Another girl, a blond, said as she came up behind her brunette teammate. A third girl, another blond, stood behind them, looking quiet.

“Okay,” Lacey sighed, shaking her head. “I get it. You’ve got something to prove. Don’t we all? Look, we all worked really hard, both teams, to get to where we are right now. It’s the playoffs, I get it. These are the finals. But seriously, what good is it going to do anyone by you guys acting like bitches, trying to intimidate our team? It won’t work. So grow the fuck up and then come talk to me.”

“It won’t matter after this game,” the brunette smirked. “It’s not like we’ll be seeing you anymore after tonight.” She turned on her heel and jogged back to the rest of her teammates. One of the blonds did too.

The last blond, the quiet one, said, “There’s a turf field where the field hockey teams play just down that way. Your team can practice there.” She pointed to her left and then went back to join her team. Lacey watched her go and shook whatever nasty thoughts were running through her head.

“Come on,” she said to her teammates. “We’ve got to go practice.”

* * * *

Jonathan stood in his skates and full gear, ready to head out onto the ice for the start of Game Six against the Flyers. This was their chance at the Cup. They could win it tonight and go back to Chicago as Stanley Cup Champions. This was his dream. He felt a bit nauseous.

Patrick walked up beside him, his stick in his hands. “You ready, Captain?”

Jonathan stared straight forward and swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

“You’d better be,” Patrick smirked. “The chance of a lifetime is waiting for us on that ice. There’s no way we’re losing this game.”

“Come on, boys,” Coach Quenneville declared, clapping his hands. “Showtime. Head on out.”

The guys on the team all filed onto the ice one by one.

It’s just a game, Jonathan told himself. It’s just a game.

* * * *

The stadium lights were on full strength at the NYU stadium. Lacey watched as her teammates stretched out their legs and got their final sips of water before the start of the game.

“I’m freaking out,” Andrea declared, fanning herself off with her hand. “This is our last chance.”

“Lacey, we could use one of your famous speeches right about now,” Farah agreed, shaking out all her limbs.

Lacey bit her lip and nodded.

“I’m not going to sugar coat it,” she began. “This might be our final game of the season. If we win, then great. We move on to a sixth game and push for a seventh. If we don’t, then we go down showing this team that we don’t go down without a fight. As long as you put your hearts into this game, we’ll walk away winners. It’s just a game.” She put her hand out and her teammates followed her lead, stacking one hand atop of another. “Loyola on three!”

“One, two, three, Loyola!”

The girls cheered and clapped their hands before running out and taking their positions. Once they’d all gone, the coach walked over to Lacey and stood next to her.

“Do you really think this is just a game?” he asked quietly as the NYU fans cheered for their home squad.

Lacey stared straight ahead. “I have to.”

* * * *

The game started.

The first period played out, earning a goal from both teams. Jonathan and Patrick both assisted on a goal by Dustin Byfuglien, but less than three minutes later the Flyers responded with a goal of their own by Scott Hartnell.

In the second period, eight minutes in, Danny Briere got another one for the Flyers to make it 2-1, but Chicago scored nearly two minutes after on a goal by Patrick Sharp, and then again with barely three minutes left in the period by Andrew Ladd.

The third period felt like Chicago was facing an entirely new team. The Flyers played with desperation, trying to even out the score to push overtime. And, with four minutes left, they did.

The Blackhawks filed into the locker room to get ready for overtime.

Jonathan sat in his stall, helmet off, trying to catch his breath and calm himself down.

“You okay, Captain Serious?” Sharpie joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them in OT.”

Jonathan looked up at his friend and teammate and sent him a weak smile before putting his head back in his hands. He let out a sigh and then stood up, his eyes full of determination.

“Let’s finish this.”

* * * *

The first half of the game was sided very much in NYU’s favour. The team had gotten a huge number of shots on Loyola’s goal, but thankfully only two had gotten in. Lacey was on the sidelines biting her nails down to the quick. The score after the first half was over was 2-0 for NYU.

During half time, Lacey told her teammates that they needed to work together, not against each other. Talk, pass the ball, don’t play fancy. They listened to her in the second half.

The underdogs came on full force and pounded the NYU goal relentlessly. Farah got a breakaway ten minutes in and deked out the goalie and walked the ball into the net, doing a victory dance on her way back to her teammates. Not five minutes later, Andrea did a one-timer from about three feet from the 12 yard box on a lobbed pass from Becky and it curled beautifully into the net to tie it at two. The clock ran out and the referee blew the whistle. There would be over time.

“Come on ladies, you can do this,” Lacey said, high-fiving her teammates. “As long as we keep playing the way we did in the second half, we can win this.”

Becky nodded, taking a sip of water before tossing her bottle onto the ground. “It’s on.”